


Five Times Body Sharing Was Annoying and One Time It Wasn’t (It was Very Pleasurable Instead)

by thekeyholder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkwardness, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: Aziraphale gets discorporated and Heaven is rather slow with providing a new body. They'll get around to it, in five or twenty days. In the meantime, Aziraphale and Crowley come to the decision to share a body, while they wait for Heaven's atelier to finish their work. It shouldn't be awkward, because they're friends, right? (It’s definitely awkward.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macdicilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdicilla/gifts).



> This was written for the awesome Macdicilla in the GO Exchange 2016. I haven't written for these two in a while, but I'm quite pleased with the end result. :) 
> 
> Many thanks to [my friend Irene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuraicha) for bouncing ideas with me and to the [lovely Tamar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamarElmensdorp/pseuds/TamarElmensdorp) for betaing the story.

**I.**

 

“Angel, stop fidgeting!”

 

“I’m sorry to say this, my dear boy, but this might not have been your brightest idea. Your body is just too small for two souls.”

 

The demon felt his blood boil. _Metaphorically_ , of course. Aziraphale kept squirming, as if Crowley’s body were a piece of clothing he’d overgrown over the summer. It was too small, too short, too tight. Too _intimate_. Why did he ever suggest this idea?!

 

It was all Aziraphale’s fault, of course. That stupid angel had to go and die. All right, all right, he couldn’t have known that the car would just appear out of nowhere and mow him down. But he also shouldn’t have been so immersed in his reading that he became wallpaper without even noticing. Luckily, Crowley hadn’t been there, or he would have slapped Aziraphale’s remains.

 

Aziraphale had briefly inhabited the body of a teenage girl who was skipping classes (“since she's doing that, she's safer with me anyway,” the angel said in the girl’s affected tone), taking full control, and letting her consciousness sleep, so as not to freak her out. Human bodies, as in the genuine stuff, not the ones issued by Heaven or Hell, were not meant for long-term inhabitation by supernatural creatures.

 

Nevertheless, this form allowed Aziraphale enough time to contact his superiors, and tell them about the unfortunate situation. The reply was less than satisfactory, however. Since it was an unforeseen order, Aziraphale had to wait between ten-twelve working days*.

 

* For Heaven, working days are Monday through Saturday.

 

So that was how Aziraphale, in the shape of a blue-haired girl, ended up on Crowley's doorstep. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there; he didn't expect help or anything. Maybe he just wanted to let his friend know about what had happened to him. Not that Crowley would care… or well, only to the extent that he’d think the angel stood him up when he didn't show up to their usual Tuesday lunch.

 

Crowley laughed for two minutes at the angel’s new body, but even through the teen’s mask of ennui, Aziraphale’s desperation was shining through. His soul could just float around until the arrival of the new body, but for some reason it was always more difficult to connect with it, so it was advisable to avoid it at all costs. Technical issues, the people from Heaven would say with a shrug.

 

“Alright, alright,” Crowley sighed. “What if you stayed with me?”

 

“What, here? You know I have to let the girl go soon, otherwise she won't be able to walk out unscathed.”

 

“I meant as in, what if we shared my body until you get a new one?”

 

“Oh uh… are you sure?”

 

“Yes, I’d rather not witness the struggle from 1789 again.”

 

Aziraphale had been caught by the revolutionists who were convinced that his noble features came from aristocratic background, and executed him on the spot. He then decided to wander in Paris as a bodiless soul. However, by the time he did receive a new body, his soul simply refused to connect with it ‒ they suspected it had done so, because it thought it had returned to its original state.

 

“Well, if you’re absolutely certain, my dear boy.”

 

“We’re friends, it will be fine.”

 

Except it wasn't, not really. Aziraphale kept fidgeting inside him, as if it were itching somewhere and he couldn't scratch it, making Crowley nervous too in the process. After a while, though, the angel stopped, and seemed to finally having adjusted. The reason was soon discovered by Crowley, when he passed by a mirror.

 

“What the… angel!”

 

Crowley blinked a few times behind his sunglasses, taking them off finally to inspect his changed appearance. He looked like one of those comical photo mash ups you could do on the internet, of himself and Aziraphale.

 

“I don’t mind the darker ssskin tone, but the hair… these curls need to go.”

 

They weren't as dense and long as Aziraphale’s, but they looked ridiculous on his head.

 

“ _Why, I think you look rather dashing with them_ ,” Aziraphale replied in his head.

 

Crowley glared at himself, and his hair shrank back to his short, uncurly state.

 

“No.”

 

**II.**

 

Although Crowley liked sleeping, he didn’t do it every day. It wasn’t vital to him as it was for humans, just an indulgence. Since Aziraphale had joined him, though, it had become his form of escapism.

 

It worked the first time. Aziraphale   just babbled confusedly (“ _Crowley, are you listening to me? What is happening, why is everything slowing down?_ ”), and then his mind quieted for a couple of hours. But the angel wouldn’t let himself be fooled so easily the next time.

 

Crowley smiled, letting the familiar sinking feeling wash over him as he lay his head on the pillow, ignoring Aziraphale’s protest. Just a few hours. He was still floating in that in-between space between sleep and wakefulness, the warmth of his blanket aiding him in achieving that blissful state.

 

But then a strange restlessness, whose source wasn’t his mind, ran through his body. He felt himself sitting up in the bed and opening his eyes – both these actions had been performed without his will. Then a book materialised in his hands, and he knew what was happening.

 

Aziraphale must have sensed his anger at his sleep being interrupted, because he gently said: “Oh, did I wake you, Crowley? I apologise, I did not realise we couldn’t do two things at the same time.”

 

“You did not realise?! Sleeping requires closed eyes!”

 

“Yes, but I was getting bored, and the previous chapter ended on a cliffhanger. I really need to know what’s happening next.”

 

So Crowley graciously let Aziraphale finish his reading, though he was quietly fuming. Afterwards, though, he revengefully slept for five hours instead of two.

 

**III.**

 

“Crowley, shouldn’t we get going?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley could feel an alien excitement grow in him.

 

“Where?”

 

“To the Ritz, my dear boy. It’s Tuesday if you haven’t noticed. We shouldn’t give up our tradition just because of this small inconvenience, should we?”

 

Crowley snorted; small inconvenience, his arse. But anything was better than staying in his flat; he needed to get out from this cramped place. Although he felt that even out there he would be breathless, like his skin was too tight, and he’d never be able to breathe in anymore. But he hid that thought from the angel, not wanting to upset him. It was becoming exhausting, though, to actively hide his thoughts from his companion.

 

“All right, let’s go,” Crowley sighed, and went to the Bentley.

 

He knew Aziraphale would probably annoy him endlessly at the restaurant, but Crowley’s tension started rising during the car ride already. Unlike Crowley, he had no idea how – or perhaps no intention – to hide his negative thoughts, so the demon learned that his driving was considered mad and perilous. It already made him grit his teeth.

 

But then at the Ritz, Aziraphale actually had the audacity to order the cauliflower cream soup with parmesan croquette, when he knew how much Crowley absolutely loathed cauliflower. What was even more upsetting was that he had actually taken control over Crowley’s actions and body, passing his order with a smile to the waiter.

 

“What would you like for the main course?”

 

“The duck leg with orange and red cabbage.”

 

“What are you doing, Aziraphale?!” he hissed between his teeth.

 

“Ordering lunch.”

 

“Cauliflower soup?! Really?!”

 

“Come on, my dear boy, I haven’t had it for what feels like ages.”

 

“But we’re sharing a stomach now!” Crowley screamed inside his head, and he could practically feel the mental wave of hand Aziraphale made.

 

When the soup was brought, Crowley almost retched from the smell. He could never understand how anyone could eat what to him tasted as liquid flatulence.

 

The waiter looked at him with concern. “Is everything all right, Mr. Crowley?”

 

“Yes, yes, of course.”

 

“Is Mr. Fell on a business trip?” Why did Brad choose this exact day to be making conversation with him?

 

“Yes, yes, he travelled to China for this ancient erotica book.”

 

The demon grinned with satisfaction as Aziraphale recoiled in mortification inside of him.

 

“He’s into that kind of thing,” he added smugly, and Brad smiled politely before he scurried away.

 

Aziraphale’s infuriation showed on Crowley’s skin: his entire face and neck became red as he was spooning the soup with indignant delight. Moreover, before Crowley could stop him, he ordered a second bowl of soup, and tears of anger burnt in the demon’s eyes as Aziraphale pushed the horrible substance down his throat.

 

He stayed quiet during the main course, and the angel must have felt guilty, because he ordered a chocolate parfait with rum and caramelized walnuts, which was Crowley’s favourite dessert.

 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered, and gentle warmth spread through Crowley.

 

Crowley sighed; he could never stay upset. “It’s okay, angel. Want to share?”

 

Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley smiled as the sound reverberated in his head.

 

**IV.**

 

After the takeover incident at the restaurant, Crowley really should have sat down and talked about the ‘house rules’ to Aziraphale, but he avoided any kind of conflict or embarrassing situation as much as possible.

 

Perhaps then Aziraphale wouldn’t have interfered with his plant grooming session.

 

“You know, you really shouldn’t treat your plants like that,” Aziraphale said judgingly, and caressed the leaves of the Philodendron, whispering kind things in exchange of the reprimand it had just suffered from Crowley.

 

“Stop! You’re confusing it! We’re not playing good cop, bad cop.”

 

“Kindness would get you so much further, though. Look how touch-starved it is. That’s right, Phil, you’re a beautiful plant, aren’t you?”

 

Crowley was exasperated. “You can’t name them!”

 

“You have the shiniest leaves, Phil. You’d definitely win the first prize,” Aziraphale cooed and Crowley decided that he’d rather just not step onto his balcony anymore than watch Aziraphale unravel all his hard work.

 

**V.**

 

Even after his plants were showered in Aziraphale’s love, and the angel put a small Santa hat on David, the snowball pincushion cactus, Crowley was unable to put his foot down. Truth be told, his plants did look _greener_ , but he’d never say that out loud. In addition, after the restaurant incident, they started asking for each other’s consent when they wanted to do something that might not sit well the other.

 

“Would it be all right if I had hot chocolate?” Aziraphale would ask.

 

“Angel, would you mind if I took a nap?” Crowley asked.

 

“Knock yourself out.”

 

This time, Aziraphale didn’t wake him up, but Crowley found him looking in one of the places where he should have never ever been. He was looking through their common memories.

 

“Oh, Crowley, you’re awake! Dear boy, I’ve been looking for your memories of the Christmas of 1855 or 1856 we spent in Munich, I can’t recall anymore what was that fantastic wine… oh, there it is!”

 

Crowley was petrified for a few seconds, enough time for Aziraphale to notice that the memory… well, the memory was centred on the angel. Back then he had a different body; Crowley’s memories were about his lovely smile, the swish of his hair, and how his wonderful, long fingers wrapped around Crowley’s wrist. But more importantly, Aziraphale also had a glimpse of the sensations and feelings his touch stirred in the demon.

 

“Get out,” Crowley whispered.

 

“Crowley…”

 

“You had no business here, angel! You’re a guest in here!”

 

“I’m… you’re right, my dear boy. I shouldn’t have come in here without your approval. I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s chest hurt.

 

“Please, go.”

 

Aziraphale retreated to the farthermost corner of Crowley’s mind, his presence almost imperceptible. Crowley curled up on his bed, hiding his face in a pillow. How would he ever look the angel in the eyes?! He must have realised that Crowley liked him, found him attractive in all the forms he’d ever inhabited, because he liked Aziraphale’s soul, his personality, his stupid love for books and cocoa, and how he’d always stuck with the demon. If only it were just lust, but it encompassed all forms of love, a sentiment that he wasn’t even supposed to be able to feel.

 

**VI.**

 

It was a cowardly thing to do, but Crowley decided to go back to sleep. He couldn’t face the shame, not yet. But even in his dream, his treacherous mind betrayed him: he dreamt of Aziraphale holding his hand and walking with him as the snow was falling gently around them. Then he pushed Crowley against a wall, his thumb caressing the demon’s sharp jawline.

 

“ _My dear boy…”_

 

Then he was kissing Crowley with passion, the demon moaning into it as Aziraphale pressed a hand against his erection.

 

Crowley woke up with desire coiling in the pit of his stomach, and tried to ignore it. Maybe if he didn’t open his eyes, it would go away. As he was focusing on inhaling and exhaling, he didn’t notice that Aziraphale’s presence had become more prominent again. His right hand sneaked under the blanket, and pressed the palm against his hardness.

 

“Aaah!”

 

“Shh, Crowley, it’s alright,” Aziraphale said, his calmness eliminating Crowley’s tension.

 

“Angel, what are you doing?” Crowley whimpered, the familiar feel of his hand contrasting with its motion, which was controlled by Aziraphale.

 

“I think you know what I’m doing, Crowley, don’t be obtuse,” the angel replied in his head, amusement colouring his voice. “I just wanted to apologise for yesterday, and let you know that I’m fine with your feelings.”

 

Crowley put his left arm over his eyes, embarrassing noises leaving his gaping mouth.

 

“Actually, fine is an understatement. The feeling’s very much mutual. I want you too, my dear boy,” Aziraphale confessed in a rather shaky voice, and Crowley mumbled nonsense as Aziraphale stroked his cockhead.

 

However, it was Crowley who couldn’t take the teasing anymore, and finally pushed down his trousers and underwear, wrapping his hand around his cock.

 

“May I?” Aziraphale asked, and the demon nodded frantically.

 

Strange as it was, the angel was the one who stroked him then. Crowley wished it could have been Aziraphale’s elegant fingers around him, but this was the best they could do, and it was already driving him mad.

 

“How long has this been going on?” the angel asked.

 

“I-I don’t really know. Since forever,” Crowley thought, and then he unlocked the memories he’d been hiding since the dawn of time.

 

Aziraphale in his true form, carrying the flaming sword. His laughter and smile throughout millennia. Aziraphale reaching out to push aside Crowley’s black hair from his forehead. Their innumerable walks in St. James’s Park. Crowley’s body shook with desire.

 

“ _Crowley_ ,” the angel moaned, his own memories of the demon flooding Crowley’s mind. He’d never dreamt of his feelings being reciprocated, not this strongly.

 

Aziraphale spread the precum spurting from the tip to the entire shaft, his grip becoming tighter and his pace faster. “Now I understand why people are doing it, but I feel like your body is going to explode soon.”

 

Crowley laughed, but his other hand gripped the bed sheet tighter. “I’m not going to last.”

 

Aziraphale caressed him mentally, and squeezed his cock, “You don’t have to, Crowley. Let go, my dear boy, you’re safe with me.”

 

Crowley cried out at the words, and his head thudded against the pillow.

 

“I love you, Aziraphale.”

 

The combined pleasure from the stroking and Aziraphale’s ecstasy tipped off Crowley as well, his eyes squeezing shut as he came thickly on his stomach. For a few seconds, he couldn’t feel Aziraphale in his mind, and he panicked, but the angel reappeared soon.

 

“Sorry, I just… oh, that was…otherworldly,” Aziraphale panted.

 

“Did you just black out on me?” Crowley snorted, and felt the angel’s slight embarrassment.

 

“Well… there was nothing physical I could hold on to.”

 

Unlike before, Crowley let his thoughts be available to Aziraphale. _I wish I could hold you now._

 

“Me too… well, only two-four work days left until my new body is issued.”

 

Crowley groaned.

 

“We could practice on you until then?”

 

That cheered up the demon, who went towards the shower, ready to show the angel the benefits of warm water as well.


End file.
